The Aftermath of the Riechenbach Fall
by FrodoLuverNumber1
Summary: John's world is falling apart. He's just lost his best friend and he doesn't know what to do. But will some advice from Mrs. Hudson be the answer John has been searching for? *Author's Note: Obviously from the title this is post-Reichenbach. John has already talked to Sherlock's grave that one time, but he feels he needs to do it again. And this is a new therapist he has.*


"The Aftermath of the Reichenbach Fall"

A Sherlock Fan Fiction Short Story

By: Amber Warren

"I just can't believe he's gone is all, really. I mean, he was just here a few days ago, and now, he's… d-dead."

I stare at my hands, which I still have not figured out what to do with. I don't want to look this woman in the eyes, even if she is a professional therapist. I don't care.

"M-hm. I see," she nods, as if by me telling her two sentences, she knows everything about me. "And when did your friend die again?"

Anger starts to well up inside me a little and I hotly answer, "He has a name and its Sherlock bloody Holmes! Well, not, the, uh, bloody part, but, um, it's Sherlock Holmes. And he wasn't my friend. He was my best friend." I exhale the breath I've been holding in my lungs since I stepped into this place and don't answer her question. Rotten therapist.

Mrs. Hudson suggested I talk to someone about Sherlock's death, to make me come to peace with it or something like that. But I can't. I just can't. I cannot and will not accept the fact that Sherlock Holmes is dead. And that he was faking at being "The World's Only Consulting Detective"? No. I will not accept that. I can't.

I look around the cluttered room. A bookcase crammed with books with titles like "So you Think your Life is Over?", "Dealing with Dumb Dummies", and "Look Kid, you're Gonna' be Fine!" are gather on her bookcase. Linda Clement's, the therapist's, desk has stacks of paper work on it and little knick-knacks. It reminds me of the way Sherlock's desk would always look when he was on a case. God, I miss him.

"John?" Linda's voice interrupts my thoughts. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry," I shake my head and give her a weak smile. "Just zoning out, I guess."

"That's quite alright," she returns the smile. "How would you describe your relationship with Sherlock?"

How would I describe it? Well complicated, that's for absolute certain. Aggravating at times, with how arrogant the bloke could be, God rest his soul. Sherlock could make me so angry sometimes. And how cold and arrogant he could be, man, was it shocking. When I got the fake call about Mrs. Hudson being shot, he didn't even care. That day I thought he actually legitimately didn't have a heart, but if I had told him that, he would have told me that it was scientifically impossible to live without a heart and would have said he has one, he just never uses it for anything but pumping blood. Oh, him and his scientific perfections! Yes, we had a very complicated relationship for certain, but a great one.

Sherlock did have amazing qualities, too, though. He was the most brilliant man I've ever met. He could take one look at you and tell you your whole life story, much alike to what the therapist was trying quite ineffectively to do to me. He could tell you where you just were on holiday by taking a look at your watch. Sherlock could tell you that your girlfriend was getting off with your best friend by looking at your socks. He could tell you that you had been in a war by the tan you had. Sherlock was the most amazing man I've ever known. He could often be cold and distant, but when he opened up to you, it was quite remarkable. Sherlock had a way about him that you want to hate him and love him at the same exact time. He was cruel at times, but during the scarce few times he would open up to me, I could tell that all-in-all, he was a remarkable man and good person. He truly cared about people and did love them. He had an amazing mind but what I never_ really_ got to know was the heart inside of him. A long time ago, I had a talk with Mycroft. He was talking about what a brilliant mind Sherlock had and then he said, "Then what are we to deduce about his heart?" I didn't know what to say to him then. I think I now know what I should have told him. I know now that Sherlock had an amazing mind and an amazing heart to match.

And the way he wanted to help people! Sherlock would pretend that he was solving cases because it was fun, but I know that deep down, it was because he wanted to solve those cases and bring justice to the people affected by the crimes committed against them. The arrogant and smug way about him was just for show. Sherlock truly cared about those people.

Now, I don't exactly feel like spilling my guts to someone I've met just a few minutes ago, so I don't tell her all of this. Or even a little of it. I just say, "It was complicated, but we were very close."

"Yes," Linda nods like she understands, angering me again. "Well, that is all the time we have for today, but you may come back on Wednesday if you'd like."

I nod and rise from the much too over-stuffed chair. "Thank-you for your time."

Walking out of her office, the feeling that things would never be the same came over me.

And they wouldn't.

Ever.

...

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson! I'm back!" I call as I enter our, um, sorry, my flat, wiping my feet on the rug as I do so. I've got to remember it's just my flat now. Not Sherlock's and mine. That will take some getting used to.

"Hello, dear," Mrs. Hudson says coming down the stairs as she takes my coat. As I ascend the steps, she asks, "How'd it go?"

I shrug. "Alright, I suppose."

Coming into the living room, I sit down in my green comfortable chair. Across from me, sits Sherlock's favorite red chair. I remember him always watching shows and shouting things like, "Of course he's not the boy's father! Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!" I smile weakly and look around our flat. It's still cluttered with Sherlock's belongings. His desk is cluttered with papers and books, some books open, some closed. I rise and walk over to his desk. I pick up a book that bears the words, "So you're Living with a Slob?" I smile again and I realize that that must have been from the same book series as Linda's "So you Think your Life is Over?" I pick it up and turn it over. It's already collecting dust and I brush it off. I open to the first page and start flipping through the pages when a note in an envelope falls out. I feel my heart stop as I recognize the perfect, spidery handwriting of Sherlock and the words, "**To John**," on the cover.

I take a deep breath and open the letter cautiously. Was this his suicide note? I'm not sure if I want to read this but I know I have to. I sit down in my chair, open it, and start to read.

**Dear John,**

**Yes, I realize that "Dear John" is a Nicholas Sparks novel, so don't even think about that right now. And no, this is not a suicide note. Well, not exactly. I just need you to know something.**

** You were the best friend I could've asked for. I quite literally had no friends before you. You were my first friend. Surprising, isn't it? Not really. I know how horrible I could be at times. Cruel, cold, heartless? I know those words come to mind. So, I'd like to apologize. I was so terrible to you and you kept being there for me. I was never there for you and that makes me feel horrid. So, I am so sorry. I really do care about you. You are the most brave, loyal, strong, incredible person I've ever met and I am sorry that you had to deal with me. I am certain that you will go on to do great things, John. Amazing things because you are an utterly amazing person and you'll have a great life because of who you are. Never change who you are, no matter what, because you are completely perfect the way you are. **

**When you find this, I'll probably be gone already, so I need to tell you something. I'm not a fake. Moriarty is not Richard Brook. He is Jim Moriarty and him alone. The reason I am dead is because of him. Jim hired assassins to kill you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade if I wouldn't kill myself. You **_**need**_** to stay away from him because I don't want him to hurt you. **

**And John, you must allow yourself to grieve, in whatever manner you see fit. Scientifically speaking you go through multiple stages of… never mind. But don't just curl up and never leave the house like you did after you and Sara broke up. Sorry, that was mean. Gosh, I'm horrible. Anyways, this is goodbye and I just hope you don't think too poorly of me. Try to remember the good things about me, not the bad. I know there isn't many good things but please. Promise me. **

**Just two more things. There's an arm hidden in the freezer so you'll probably want to dispose of that before Mrs. Hudson has a heart attack. And also, I cannot thank-you enough for all you've done for me. You've shown me how much friendship and love really matter, and that any man can be brave if he sets his mind and heart on something. You taught me that by the way you live. **

**Your colleague, roommate, and friend,**

** Sherlock Holmes**

As I look up from the letter, my vision is blurred from all the tears that have cluttered in my eyes. My cheeks are drenched with tears and I am hiccupping, I'm crying so hard.

Mrs. Hudson must've heard me sobbing because she comes up the steps and asks, "Whatever's the matter, sweetheart?"

I simply hold up the letter and turn away. I can't deal with this right now. All these emotions are welling up inside my heart right now; I think it will explode any minute. Hurt, despair, basically different variations of sadness.

All this time, he felt he was a terrible human being. I always thought he was so confident in himself, but no. Sure, he could be rude and cold at times, but he was _anything_ but horrible. Sherlock was the best friend I could've had, too. He was impulsive, rude, and distant. But he was also loving, caring, and wonderful. Sherlock was not a horrible human being.

Sherlock was the greatest man I've ever known and I'll never forget him for as I'll live.

And the wonderful things he said about me! I didn't think Sherlock was capable of being so nice! Brave, loyal, strong, Incredible. Fresh tears jump to my eyes.

Mrs. Hudson reads the letter and tears spring to her eyes, too. After she's done reading it, she looks at me and says, "Oh, John."

I am staring out the window, not looking at Mrs. Hudson. I can't even really see what's out the window. I can't tell what I see because the world's gone grey.

"Mrs. Hudson," I say, finally turning to face her. "I never e-even got to say g-_goodbye_. To my _b_-_b_-_best f-friend_."

Mrs. Hudson comes over and places a hand on my shoulder. I grab her hand and cry even harder. I cry until all the tears I can muster are out of me.

"Maybe you still can," she says softly.

"W-What do you m-mean?" I stammer.

"I know Sherlock's gone, but you can still make your own peace with him," Mrs. Hudson explains. "Go to his grave. Tell him what you want to say. It will make you feel loads better and will help with the healing process."

Mrs. Hudson stands me up by my coat (I didn't know she was that strong) and straightens it. "I'm sure it will help." She gives me a weak smile and wraps her arms around me, giving me a great big hug. I hug her back and say, "Okay, I'll do it."

She pulls away and smiles. "Great." She wipes her eyes and says, "I'm so proud of you. You've been_ so_ strong."

"Thanks," I say, wiping away tears from my own eyes. I take a deep breath and exhale. "I'm ready."

...

"Hey, Sherlock."

I'm standing in Pleasant Sleep graveyard, at the foot of Sherlock's grave. The epitaph reads, "Sherlock Holmes: January 6th, 1977- April 15th, 2011. Brother, Consulting Detective, Friend". I designed the epitaph myself. I thought the world should know about the "World's Only Consulting Detective" and I thought Sherlock would want the world to know that he was that, too.

There's a nip in the air and the distinct smell of an oncoming rain shower. April used to be my favorite time of the year. It was so nice to be inside and cozy with a good book and tea.

I sigh and take a long, slow, deep breath before beginning. "Hi, Sherlock. Um, I, uh, came here because I thought you deserved, um, reciprocation for your letter. And I want to say that you were not a horrible person. You were the greatest man. Just the greatest. I mean, yes, sometimes you were a bit much, but none-the-less, you are amazing. You're not a bad person. You are a good person. A fantastic one. Well, uh, were one, I guess I mean. Sorry. You've done so much for me. I've said this before but I was lonely, too. You saved me. I was _so_ alone and you rescued me. So, thank-you. Thank-you so much. I guess I taught you something you said. You taught me something, too. That even one man can change the world if he really means to change it. You did that."

I sigh and place a hand on Sherlock's grave. "You were my best friend and I will never,_ ever_ forget you."

A single tear falls down my cheek.

"Good-bye, Sherlock Holmes."

I kneel down and place his favorite black Belstaff coat at the foot of his grave. "Thought you might want this."

I rise and wipe away the tear. I give a final nod to the grave and turn to exit the graveyard.

This was the last time I would actually see Sherlock Holmes. Well, sort of. But I had made my peace. I was ready to begin the grieving and the healing process. I will never forget Sherlock. I will always remember him and he will always be in my heart.

Sherlock Holmes is the greatest man I've ever known and will always be my best friend.


End file.
